Stalemate

Chapter 40

Doon moved along the wall, stepping as lightly as he could, toward the back entrance. Every few feet he peered over the wall to find Dinor, whose silhouette he could sometimes see creeping around corners or through archways. The villa was still silent, unthreatening. He crept, like a predator, surveying the room he thought to be Ashtin's. He considered the dry air of the night a blessing: as he wound the corner, he saw that a window was cracked, just enough to let in the air, to catch the curtains and send their trails flurrying, on the second floor, set in the east wall of Ashtin's room. Trailing up the exterior below it were thick, viney fronds reaching up towards the roof. It was almost too simple; Doon didn't know whether to feel assured or unsettled by this fact.

    It took only moments for him to reach the back of the grounds, where a sparse line of trees separated the estate from the rows of townhouses and shops on the other side. The back of the house was plainer than the facade, not as decorated with vines and exotic plants. A glass door opened onto a patio with a burgeoning fountain and a small garden. A shell path meandered around the beds, eventually reaching the black iron gate. Inside the room, Doon could see in the candlelight, the ballroom was empty. The meeting was still being convened. A large room to the left was alight, telling him all of the guests were occupied there.

    Doon turned down the final stretch of the wall and moved, perhaps too hastily, toward the place where the brick wall dipped into the iron. Beneath his shirt, his skin was damp with sweat. His heart pittered, sometimes jolting when he heard a twig snap or he cast a nervous glance back at the house, expecting to find someone there, staring back.

    And when he reached the gate, he found it already open. Wide open, as if welcoming him. He paused there on the grass, the toe of his shoe an inch from the harsh beginning of the path. It was not what he'd expected. He was supposed to climb, to perform this task as inconspicuously as he could. It was supposed to be the most difficult part. Had Dinor simply walked through, too?

    It was odd.

    Then, to his left, he found the gridlock in the grass, beaten to a mangled brick of iron. Dinor had not done this.

    Gaping like a fool, Doon stood, staring down at the destroyed gridlock, then up at the house before him. He would remember later how he felt in this moment, how he could sense that something was not quite right about this, and how Dinor did not signal to alert him of this. And how there was no sign of him anywhere now.

    He stepped onto the path and, as swiftly as he could, moved across the garden and up to the patio, where the rushing water of the marble fountain thankfully concealed any sounds he made. He made sure to move out of view of the windows, and pressed himself against the wall to the right of the patio. He inched up the wall, past the vacant, dark windows. He peered around the corner. Empty and dark, hidden from the moon's light. A line of perfectly trimmed hedges stretched along the wall and stopped at the other end, where the front gardens began. His eyes traced the contour lines of the structure, where the building stopped and the balcony began, where the vines climbed up to Ashtin's window, which was the only illuminated window on this side of the house. Glancing behind him once more to be sure he was still alone, he turned the corner and approached it, feeling well hidden in the darkness. The shadow of the house loomed over him. He felt safe. His footsteps made no sound on the turflike lawn.

    Finally he stopped just under the window and outstretched a hand, tugged on the vines to make sure they were strong enough to hold him. His movements were involuntarily jolty, a subtle tremor in his hands. He let out a shaky breath and looked around once more. Then, he grabbed handfuls of the vines and pulled himself upward.

    A grunt escaped him, and in an attempt to keep himself quiet, he clamped his mouth shut and didn't breathe. His arm muscles spasmed, and for a long moment he was suspended awkwardly in the air, his posture unbalanced and teetering. He shoved his foot into the leaves, searching for purchase, his other foot snatching at the air in an attempt to steady himself. The leaves made a ruckus, falling down into his face, brushing against his arms. Hoisting himself upward, he snatched at another vine further above his head. Caught it, hoisted again, brought his feet up to stand on another vine.